Mercy
by I.M. Elizabeth
Summary: Mello's thoughts after setting off the grenade. Mello/OC


_A/N: Just a quick little drabble about Mello's feelings when he was rescued from the hideout after burning his face. Mercy seems to be a recurring theme in Mello's life. Top Cat's mercy to Mello's father which enabled him to live, Soichiro's mercy, Layla's...hmm. Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note or any of the respective characters and situations. However, I do own Layla Levandi. Please do not use her without my permission. Thank you.

**Mercy**

_And you must show mercy to those whose faith is wavering._

_Rescue others by snatching them from the flames of judgment. _

_Jude 22, 23_

It was mercy, not Mello that had killed Soichiro Yagami. Whoever had died was the loser, and Yagami himself had faltered, only writing down Mello's first name. He'd tried to reason with Mello, convince him to be taken into custody. But there had been no mercy in the blond's eyes, only a wild feverish intensity as he held the grenade in his hand, telling Soichiro that he hadn't wanted to kill him before Jose had unleashed a dozen bullets into the director's back.

When the others had arrived Mello had no choice but to set off the grenade.

In the haze of smoke and flames, Mello crawled to a button that was hidden under one of the armchairs in the room. The simple pressing of that button had opened a sort of panic room, well hidden underneath the floor, indiscernible unless someone spent a lot of time looking for doors in the flooring.

It was this room that Mello had crawled into, pulling the door tightly shut as he did so and suddenly reveling in the silence.

But the silence was not enough to soothe the ache in his face. Actually, it was more than an ache, it felt like his face was on fire, waves of pain going through his body with every pulse. He collapsed to the floor, screaming every obscenity he knew in russian and english. The tears weren't helping either, they burned and made it feel as if salt was being scraped over him.

He could tell his hand was badly burned too, the way it made his fingers convulse when he ripped the gas mask from his face, bits of his flesh ripping along with the edge of the mask.

It was the worst pain he'd ever felt and he lay on the cold steel twitching and convulsing like a bug that had been sprayed with poison, pain jutting through him with every breath, every heartbeat. After thirty minutes of that, he was begging for death. Begging God to send him to Heaven, Hell, anywhere that would give him just a moment of peace.

After an hour of the pain Mello was lost in himself, lost in his thoughts. Memories of childhood and his father's warm, gentle hand on his own when he read the bible to him. Then he remembered going to Wammy's, meeting L, Matt, … Layla.

The thought of her still sent more tears streaming unbidden down his cheeks, making him cry out in pain while he imagined himself rotting on the cold steel floor, becoming bones, becoming dust. Who would place flowers on a grave for him, red lilies, his favorite. Would he even have a grave? Or would he lay here to rot, until the floor caved in above his body and he'd become dirt.

The thought was maddening, because he didn't want to die yet. He wasn't ready. There was still so much for him to do, see, feel. Then the rational side of his brain finally spoke, its voice calm and collected.

_Relax you fool, you aren't going to die. Just wait, rest. Then plan._

He sighed, and after a few moments managed to fall asleep against the cold steel of the floor, in his dreams, the only place where there was no pain.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Matt spat, "It smells like a fucking barbeque in here."

The sound of the voice was enough to make Mello's eyes open, and he wanted to call out, but he couldn't bring himself to move, can't really remember how.

"Oh my God!" another voice squealed, her tone panicky and frantic. "That's Mello!"

Yes. His mind said stupidly, that is my name, I am Mello. That is who I am.

He could feel the vibration of someone running close to him, the steel shaking under his body. Then there were hands on his face, so gentle and someone was picking him up, cradling him against them.

"Mello, Mello, can you here me?" she said, slapping at the unburned side of his face. He realized, with a lump in his throat that it was Layla. When he remembered how to open his eyes all he saw was bright light. Then someone's silhouette against it. Long brown hair came into view, then bright grey eyes and Mello watched her lips move, fascinated by them.

But he couldn't remember how to form words, so he blinked stupidly at her.

Then she smiled, so big that Mello wondered if she could split her face in half that way.

"It'll be okay, Mello, I promise. I-I-I'm going to take care of you. Don't worry. I'm going to take care of you."

But the only thing that was on his mind is mercy. How mercy seems to keep saving his life.


End file.
